We’re not praying to saints. We’re asking them to pray for us. That’s the short answer, but it needs unpacking because the language trips people up.
When you ask your mom to pray for you before a job interview, you’re not worshiping her. You’re not bypassing Jesus. You’re asking someone who loves you to bring your need before God. That’s all we’re doing with the saints. The difference is that the saints are already with Christ in heaven, fully alive in his presence, and we believe they can still intercede for us just like your mom can.
The Language Problem
I know. “Praying to saints” sounds wrong if you grew up Baptist in Beaumont. Prayer means worship, right? But the English word “pray” used to just mean “ask.” That’s why old legal documents say “I pray the court” or Shakespeare has characters who “pray thee, tell me.” We’ve kept that older usage in church language, which confuses people.
When we say “Saint Nicholas, pray for us,” we’re asking. When we say “O God, have mercy on us,” we’re worshiping. Different verbs in Greek, same English word. It’s a translation quirk that causes a lot of unnecessary confusion.
One Mediator, Many Intercessors
Here’s where people quote 1 Timothy 2:5 at us: “There is one God and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus.” Absolutely true. Christ alone reconciles us to the Father. Christ alone saves. No saint can do what Jesus does.
But look at the verses right before that. Paul tells Timothy to make “supplications, prayers, intercessions” for all people. He’s commanding intercession. If asking others to pray for us violated Christ’s unique role as Mediator, Paul just contradicted himself in the same breath.
Christ’s mediation is about salvation. He’s the only one who bridges the gap between God and humanity, the only one who offers the acceptable sacrifice, the only name by which we’re saved. Intercession is different. It’s Christians praying for each other, which the New Testament commands repeatedly.
Death Doesn’t End the Church
The real question isn’t whether we can ask other Christians to pray for us. The question is whether death stops someone from being a Christian who can pray.
We say no. Death doesn’t end our life in Christ. Jesus told the thief on the cross, “Today you’ll be with me in Paradise.” Not “you’ll be unconscious until the resurrection” or “you’ll be in some waiting room.” Paul says to depart and be with Christ is “far better” than staying here. The saints who’ve died aren’t less alive than we are. They’re more alive, because they see God face to face.
If they’re alive in Christ, part of the same Body we belong to, why would they stop caring about us? Why would they stop praying? The book of Revelation shows the elders in heaven offering up the prayers of the saints in golden bowls before God’s throne. Heaven isn’t cut off from earth. It’s more connected than we are, because the saints see things clearly now.
This Goes Back to the Beginning
I’m not asking you to take my word for it. This isn’t something Orthodoxy invented in the Middle Ages. The earliest Christian writings outside the New Testament show believers asking martyrs to pray for them. The catacombs in Rome have graffiti from the 200s: “Peter and Paul, pray for Victor.” Funeral inscriptions ask the departed to intercede. The ancient liturgies all include petitions asking the saints’ prayers.
The Church has always lived this way. When your Baptist relatives tell you it’s unbiblical, what they mean is it’s not in their tradition. But it’s deeply in ours, going back to the apostles’ students and their students.
What It Looks Like in Practice
At St. Michael’s, we sing “Most Holy Theotokos, save us” during services. That shocks visitors sometimes. Save us? Isn’t that Jesus’s job?
Look at the rest of the hymn. We’re asking Mary to pray for us, and the assumption is that her prayers are powerful because she’s close to her Son. It’s like asking the boss’s mother to put in a good word for you. She can’t hire you, but she’s got his ear. (That analogy limps a bit, but you get the idea.)
We also ask Saint Michael the Archangel to protect us, since he’s our parish patron. We ask Saint Nicholas for help when we’re in trouble. We ask Saint Seraphim of Sarov to pray for our healing. But every service ends the same way: “Through the prayers of our holy fathers, O Lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us and save us.” The prayers go through the saints to Christ. Always.
It’s Not Magic
Some people worry this turns into superstition. Like Saint Anthony finds your lost keys and Saint Christopher protects your car and it’s basically baptized paganism with a Christian paint job.
That’s a real danger, and priests have to teach against it. The saints can’t do anything apart from God’s will. They’re not demigods with their own powers. They’re people who loved God so much that they became transparent to his grace, and now they want to help us do the same. When we ask their prayers, we’re asking them to bring our needs to Christ. If he says no, they can’t override him.
But we trust that their prayers carry weight. Not because they earned some special status, but because they’re united to Christ. The prayer of a righteous person avails much, James says. How much more the prayers of those who’ve finished the race and stand before God’s throne?
An Invitation
Next time you’re at Liturgy, listen to how we ask the saints to pray. Notice that we’re always talking to Christ, asking him to have mercy on us through their intercessions. It’s not either-or. It’s the whole family of God, living and dead, praying together.
And if you’re not ready to ask the saints for their prayers yet, that’s okay. Start with the thief on the cross if you want. He’s in Paradise with Jesus right now. Ask him to remember you when Christ comes in his kingdom. He knows what it’s like to cry out for mercy at the last minute. I think he’d be glad to pray for you.
